Searching for Salvatore
by Tori L. Corday
Summary: Entreri tracks his quarry to Earth
1. Default Chapter

a/n: This fanfic was inspired by several discussions at [1]www.rasalvatore.com. Many thanks go out to R.A. Salvatore for creating such interesting characters, and to the wonderful people on the messageboard who egged me on to write this.  
  
May Jarlaxle forgive me. ;)  
  
***  
  
SEARCHING FOR SALVATORE--by Tori L. Corday  
  
Part One  
  
***  
  
Entreri returned to Jarlaxle's current base of operations late into the evening, bored after another uneventful day in Waterdeep, "City of Splendors."  
  
It really was not much different from Calimport or any other large city he'd visited--albeit with fewer beggars and less organized thieves, perhaps. Entreri was not particularly impressed.  
  
He entered the crumbling tower the two had recently liberated from a tribe of bugbears and found Jarlaxle on the uppermost floor, reading over a stack of papers and looking as perplexed as Entreri had ever seen him.  
  
The assassin stopped in the doorframe and affected an indolent slouch. "More bounty offers?" he asked, though he suspected that wasn't the case.  
  
Jarlaxle shook his head, doffing his ridiculous hat. "Read these, my friend," he said, running a hand over his baldpate. "Read these charges that are being levied against me!"  
  
Entreri took the stack of papers, noticing immediately the perfectly even, unembellished script that lined the pages. It seemed to be a transcript of a conversation between several people.  
  
'I can't remember where I read it but someone brought up the idea that Jarlaxle was a hermaphrodite...'  
  
'In my opinion, Jarlaxle, as well as all drow, are bi.'  
  
'I don't know about the bisexual thing...Although he sure does like to strut around in those little vests. It wouldn't surprise me if he were a transvestite...'  
  
There was more, but Entreri just gave it a cursory glance. "Where did this come from?"  
  
Jarlaxle hardly heard him. He was standing in front of his full-length mirror, trying on different expressions and looking in turn pouty, mean, and seductive. "Give me your honest opinion, as an objective, heterosexual man. Do you think the vest is too much?"  
  
"Jarlaxle," Entreri repeated deliberately, his patience wearing thin, "where did this come from?"  
  
The flamboyant mercenary twirled around. "Ah, yes. I had one of my sources from the outer planes do a search for anyone using my name in speech or in writing. This is what my source returned with--a written dialogue from some remote prime world called Terra, or 'Earth.' These messages, according to my source, were transmitted across hundreds and even thousands of miles instantly via some magical connection called 'the Internet.' And people say paranoia doesn't pay off."  
  
Momentarily startled by that revelation, Entreri glanced through the papers again, seeing his own name come up in more than passing reference. Something about a dwarven female, and a chain...  
  
The assassin cleared his throat. "It seems that the people of Earth have some window into our world, a means of scrying even into our own thoughts and transmitting them to others as if the distance is no consideration. A dangerous ability," he concluded.  
  
"And they make such...interesting...use of it," Jarlaxle added.  
  
Entreri nodded, acknowledging Jarlaxle's point. The fact that this information network was used for such juvenile purposes indicated that it was easily accessible even to the common people. It was not a comfortable thought.  
  
"This is a situation that requires some discreet investigation," said Entreri. "I trust your source is reliable?"  
  
"Indeed, although not always available," Jarlaxle replied. "That's why I'm sending you to look into the matter. That is, if you're interested." He smiled slyly and held up a strange looking object, rectangular and about six inches long, with numbered buttons on it.  
  
"This is called a 'cell phone'--It's been imbued with both the magical properties of our world and the world it originated on. I had a teleportation enchantment placed on it. All you need to do is put in the right number code and it will take you here or there." Jarlaxle beamed happily. "And if you punch in a different code, you can talk to me!" He pulled an identical looking object out of one his many pockets--well, almost identical. This one was gold-plated and studded with enough precious gems to buy a small kingdom. "It doesn't have the teleportation enchantment, but it will allow us to communicate with each other." Jarlaxle struck a pose, holding the absurdly decorated magical phone up to his ear. "Oh wait--let me give you my number."  
  
As Jarlaxle scribbled down the codes, he began briefing Entreri about his mission. "The ringleader of this group seems to be a man called R.A. Salvatore. I need you to find out how he is getting this information and silence him. He may be difficult to find, cloaked in secrecy, perhaps. Even his followers seem to have a difficult time contacting him. You might want to start lower--well, you have a list of names."  
  
Entreri scanned the information again, smiling evilly. Some of these too-talkative fools had been considerate enough to give each other information regarding their whereabouts. The list of names was long--Evla5, Arabwel, Sri'alys the Indep, Juliet...  
  
The hunt was on.  
  
***  
  
Entreri punched in the code Jarlaxle had given him and shut his eyes as a blast of magical energy pulled him away from the tower and into another world entirely. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in the doorway of a run-down building a few steps below street level. He hurried off, not wanting to be questioned for his abrupt arrival, and noted briefly that a glowing sign in the window read, "Sex toys! Adult videos, magazines, and more!"  
  
It was starting to feel like home already.  
  
The climate, though, was closer to Waterdeep than his native Calimport. Entreri was glad he'd brought his long, layered black leather coat, as a chill wind nipped at his face. It was dusk, and everywhere there was noise and lights. It heralded the passing of the strange, metallic golems that streaked past him on the road. It took him a moment to realize that the "golems" were full of people.  
  
Entreri took care to conceal his dagger and Charon's Claw in his coat; he didn't see anyone else carrying weapons, and he didn't know what the local custom was. A few people strayed along the sidewalks, giving him odd looks occasionally, but most used the golems. Was everyone in this world a wizard, or was this something other than magic? he wondered.  
  
Entreri walked along until he came to a sign that said "The Holiday Inn." That sounded promising--all he wanted at this point was a place to relax and get his bearings. He walked into the hotel lobby and waited in line at the counter. Several men in absurd looking, nearly identical outfits sat around a low table, talking business. They wore straight, shapeless clothes in various shades of gray, dark blue and black, and each wore a strange, noose-like accessory around his neck. Jarlaxle would have been appalled at their fashion sense, he thought wryly.  
  
When Entreri's turn came, a pleasant-looking young woman perkily asked him his name.  
  
"Drizzit Dudden," he replied.  
  
The woman looked bemused, but didn't question it beyond asking for the correct spelling. "And how long are you planning to stay here?"  
  
Entreri had no idea how long he'd be staying, but he figured he could always reserve his room again. "Two nights," he told her.  
  
The woman pushed some buttons on a strange device and gave him the price of the room, which meant nothing to him. "Cash or credit card?" she asked.  
  
Entreri hefted a bag of gold and precious stones up onto the counter. "Will this suffice?"  
  
The woman peered into the bag, her eyes going wide. There was enough wealth in the bag to fund Entreri's stay for a month, and she knew it. "Um..." she stammered, "let me go talk to my manager."  
  
After leaving Entreri for a moment, the woman returned with a card. "You're all set," she said, giving him the key card. "Your room is number 3012, on your left at the end of the hall after you get out of the elevator." She indicated the sliding doors that a woman in a fur-lined coat had just stepped through.  
  
It didn't take Entreri long to figure out the elevator or the key card, and soon he was starting to relax. Finally alone and free from scrutiny, he examined everything in the room. He found a thick leather-bound book in the bedside table and started reading, but he couldn't get into it. He found a map of the city on the table, and was pleased to find quite sophisticated plumbing facilities. He'd certainly stayed at worse inns.  
  
There was also a strange black box on a shelf opposite his bed, and he found that when he pressed different buttons, moving pictures appeared on a screen.  
  
Fascinated, Entreri settled down to watch, thinking he could learn something about this strange world. He learned that lemon-scented Ajax was the leading dish soap, at least according to a spokeswoman for Ajax. A scantily-clad girl appeared next, advertising _her_ wares--some sort of drink called "Pepsi." Looks like Jarlaxle's type, he thought, cracking a slight smile.  
  
Suddenly, he was aware of the presence of people in the hallway outside his door. Not overly alarmed, Entreri nevertheless set Charon's Claw up against the wall near the door, draping his coat over the sword, and tucking his dagger inside his sleeve.  
  
The footsteps stopped outside his door, and someone knocked loudly. "Open up, sir!" a voice yelled.  
  
Entreri cautiously peered through a tiny magnifying glass in the door and saw two large men, dressed much like the men he'd seen downstairs.  
  
"FBI! Open up!" The pounding on the door increased.  
  
Entreri thought about conveniently disappearing, but he'd paid a heavy sack of gold and gems to stay here, and he wasn't about to run away without a fight. He opened the door and decided to try diplomacy first.  
  
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked politely.  
  
"Mr. Dudden?" one of the men asked.  
  
Entreri nodded, wishing now that he hadn't picked such a stupid sounding alias.  
  
"I'm Agent Knight and this is my partner, Agent Walters. We'd just like to ask you a few questions. Mind if we come in?"  
  
Perfectly polite, these two nevertheless _oozed_ sliminess. Entreri didn't see any obvious weapons on them, but he knew better than to let his guard down. He stepped aside to let them in, staying within easy reach of his sword.  
  
"Now, Mr. Dudden, we regret having to impose on you like this, but you see we've come upon a rather uncomfortable situation."  
  
Entreri nodded and crossed his arms, putting his fingers less than an inch away from the hilt of his dagger. His foot crept out, closer to the coat, and began tapping almost imperceptively.  
  
"It has come to our attention that you paid for your visit here in rather large amounts of gold and gems. Now, the gems do not match the description of any that have recently been reported stolen, but we did want to ask you about the gold. Where did you get it from?"  
  
Entreri had no idea what sort of answer would satisfy these men, so he settled for the truth. "From a dragon's lair," he said, smirking.  
  
The two men exchanged loaded glances, as if that meant something to them.  
  
"The currency is unfamiliar to us," said Knight. "We have reason to suspect it was minted by individuals unfriendly to our national interests."  
  
"I think you'd better come with us," said Walters, stepping closer to Entreri. What kind of place _is_ this, he wondered. It's illegal to pay an inn tab with foreign currency?  
  
The assassin let him close in, feigning a frightened expression, and then kicked his coat off of Charon's Claw, bringing the sword up and drawing his dagger in one fluid motion. He stabbed Walters with the dagger before he could finish drawing his weapon, then reflexively dove to the side as the Knight pulled something out of his jacket. A loud *bang* erupted from the weapon and Entreri felt something graze his shoulder, but high on the other man's stolen life force, he hardly cared.  
  
Keeping his body tucked as he tumbled, he made himself a small and fast-moving target. He heard another *bang* as a bullet ripped into the wall where his head had just been a brief moment before, but when he finished his movement, he was within sword-range of the slower-moving Knight. The next shot went wild, and the man never got a fourth. Charon's Claw sliced off his weapon hand and then slashed him across the throat.  
  
Entreri searched the corpses for valuables, taking both men's weapons and wallets, leaving their contents for later examination. He took out the cell phone-transporter and opened up a portal to the tower, dragging the corpses with him. Jarlaxle wasn't in, so Entreri just left him a short sarcastic note. He dumped the bodies outside, changed his clothes, and visualized an area of the city several blocks from the Holiday Inn.  
  
Perhaps he would need a guide.  
  
References  
  
1. http://www.rasalvatore.com/ 


	2. Part Two

Part Two  
  
***  
  
Entreri noted that the magical vortex did not seem so strong this time as he returned to Earth, dashing the idea that he could just pop in and out of this other world whenever it was convenient. Jarlaxle hadn't mentioned anything about charges, but he knew that some magical devices needed time to replenish themselves.  
  
He'd left Charon's Claw with Jarlaxle, but kept the glove--the sword was too difficult to keep concealed. His favorite dagger was tucked in his waistband and the weapons he'd looted from the agents he kept in his coat, along with the others. Deciding his clothing was too distinctive looking, he'd stopped in an army surplus store, where he'd bought a nice long coat from a beady-eyed little skinhead who had been delighted to show him his other merchandise. Entreri didn't have a permit to buy half the stuff in the store, but he discovered the cash he'd looted was enough to make the merchant overlook that minor detail.  
  
"Did y' get fired or something?" he asked as Entreri strapped on several automatic pistols, a couple of rifles and a shotgun. "Or are you going to go kill yourself some A-rabs?"  
  
Halfway to the door, Entreri stopped and turned around, staring at the weasely little man with a look of dangerous contempt. "I did not pay you to question my intentions," he said coldly, loading his voice with an unspoken threat.  
  
"Hey man, that's cool, I just--"  
  
The assassin strode out of the shop without another word.  
  
He had enough money left to rent a room at a cheap little place called the Driftwood Inn, this time thinking the better of using any name associated with Drizzt. If the people in this world knew of him, they might know of Drizzt and his companions. He did not want his new alias to be associated in any way with "Drizzit Dudden."  
  
When the hotel clerk asked him his name, he was looking at a gaudy news publication called "Star."  
  
"Tyler Cruise," he told her.  
  
The next morning, he walked over to a coffee shop and bought an Expresso and a more reliable looking newspaper. There was a line at the counter, but most people were taking their breakfast elsewhere. Entreri had his pick of tables and sat in the corner with his back to the wall, across from the only other staying patron, a woman apparently asleep. Her hood was down over her face and her forehead was pressed against her notebook.  
  
His eyes strayed to the newspaper. "Suspected Terrorist Detained at Holiday Inn," ran the front-page headline. He began reading: "A suspicious-looking man was arrested last night after resisting questioning about his attempt to pay his bill in unusually marked gold coins.  
  
"`He was dressed oddly,' reported one eye-witness. `He was a bit swarthy, and spoke with a slight accent. He used a foreign-sounding name, and didn't really seem familiar with our customs. I had a bad feeling about him right away.'  
  
"He was taken into custody to an undisclosed location, and the FBI agents involved in his arrest could not be reached for comment. `Rest assured that they are working very hard on this case,' said a spokesperson."  
  
So much for reliability.  
  
Entreri finished his coffee and got up to throw his cup out. Busy pondering his next move, he almost didn't notice the book poking out of the woman's knapsack as he walked past, but the name R.A. Salvatore caught his eye.  
  
_Servant of the Shard_, it was called, and featured a rather effeminate looking, but recognizable dark elf on the cover.  
  
Entreri tossed out his garbage and walked back past the woman's table, close enough that his coat brushed against the book, knocking it from its place. As Entreri bent to pick it up, the woman's foot snapped out, kicking him in the shin.  
  
She sat up and glared at him--a young woman he saw now, with tousled red hair and a spiral-shaped indent on her forehead.  
  
Entreri grimaced. "I am sorry," he said, playing up his accent and handing her the book. "I am a clumsy oaf."  
  
"No, _I'm_ sorry," said the girl. "I thought you were trying to steal my wallet. Or use some cheap trick to hit on me. Because I can tell you right now, it won't work. I've been awake for 24 hours straight, I'm tired, and I do _not_ want to `do lunch.'"  
  
"You seemed to be asleep a moment ago," Entreri said mildly. Yes, she had been asleep, he was sure of it. He took a moment to sort through the rest of her discourse. A suspicious and short-tempered girl, she nevertheless seemed to have a passion for writing, if the feverishly scribbled-in notebook was any indication.  
  
Perhaps she'd respond better to something that approached the truth.  
  
"Perhaps I did have a ploy in mind," he admitted finally, managing a disarming smile. "But it was your book I was interested in, actually. I have heard of the author--R.A. Salvatore. Is he a good writer?"  
  
It was if the impulsive, shin-kicking girl had walked out of the coffee shop and another identical young woman had slipped in to replace her. Her face brightened immediately, and she gestured to the seat across from her.  
  
"You can call me Siobhan," she said. "Are you from around here?"  
  
It wasn't her real name; that was fair enough. Entreri wasn't about to give her his real name, either. "I am Shalir Za'Mmiral," he replied, sitting down. For some reason the name of the wine seller from his childhood neighborhood in Memnon popped into his head. Now, what was that country that was always on the news? Ah, yes--"I am from Afghanistan. A...refugee."  
  
"Are you really?" Suddenly she was making a real point to be friendly--no doubt to show that she was more open-minded than others who may have slighted him for his ethnicity. Entreri silently congratulated himself; that had been a gamble, but it seemed to have paid off. "Why don't we have a cup, and I'll tell you all about R.A. Salvatore..."  
  
After enduring almost an hour of hearing about Drizzt Do'Urden's wretched home-life, Entreri's cell phone rang. He apologized to Siobhan and answered it, knowing it could only be Jarlaxle. Although he would never admit it to the mercenary, he was glad to hear a familiar voice.  
  
"Hello?" Entreri said into the mouthpiece.  
  
"My _khal abbil_! I received your note, and your gifts. Thank you so much for polluting my yard. Didn't you know I'm trying to grow a garden out there?"  
  
He had to hand it to Jarlaxle--he did have a way of diffusing a situation. "Spare me your gardening tips. Did you have something important to say, or did you just call me up to bother me?"  
  
"What's with that accent?" Jarlaxle asked. "You sound like a Calishite pimp in a really bad Waterdhavian theater production. Is that how people talk there?"  
  
"More or less. Can I call you back later? I'm in the middle of a--" he paused in search of the right word; "meeting" sounded too formal--"conversation."  
  
"Do not trouble yourself," said Jarlaxle. "I was just checking to see how you were doing. Busy already? Well, what can I say; you do work fast." There was a pause at the other end of the line. "I hope I'm not...ah...interrupting anything."  
  
"If you were," Entreri said pleasantly, "I would have to kill you." He hung up the phone.  
  
Siobhan was smiling at him. "A friend, I take it?"  
  
"Yes, quite a joker--I am staying with him and his family for a time."  
  
She nodded. "Now, where was I?" she mused. "Oh yeah. So after Drizzt defeated the spirit wraith...I'm not giving away too much, am I?"  
  
"No, no," Entreri assured her. "But if I wanted to get copies of these books, where would I go?"  
  
"Well, I just pick them up in Barnes & Noble," Siobhan said. "You just get on 390 and go north to Exit 5...Actually," she added a little hesitantly, "I was thinking of going there this afternoon. I suppose you could come with me, if you like."  
  
Entreri agreed, and they walked out to the parking lot. Her car, as he had learned that they were called, was small and sleek, gunmetal gray, with the word "Celica" inscribed on the back. It occurred to him that he might need to steal a car, and it would help if he knew how to drive one. "I did not have a car in Afghanistan," he said, looking at it admiringly. How far might this girl's sympathy go, he wondered? "I always wanted to learn how to operate one..."  
  
Siobhan nodded, then stopped in her tracks. "You want to drive my car? Are you _crazy_? You don't just lend your car out to someone you've known for an hour and who has never driven one in their life!"  
  
Apparently, not that far. But Entreri persisted; when he wanted something, he was determined to get it, even if he had to do it with words instead of weapons.  
  
"Just around the lot, perhaps. I am sure you would not let me wreck your car."  
  
"Well...okay."  
  
She unlocked the driver's side door and let him in as if she still thought this was the worst idea of her life, then got in on the other side before handing him the keys. She showed him the clutch, the gas and the brake, and let him take the car around the parking lot a few times, explaining how and when to shift. Entreri was as intelligent and coordinated as almost anyone alive; he didn't stall the car once.  
  
"Good!" Siobhan congratulated him. "You sure you've never done this before?"  
  
Entreri just shrugged noncommittally.  
  
"Let's take it on the road," she suggested.  
  
"I thought you said that was...`crazy'" Entreri reminded her.  
  
"I don't think there should be a problem. We'll take it around just a bit. If all goes well, you can drive to the bookstore. You ought to learn where things are, anyway." Siobhan gestured. "Make a right out of here--don't forget to signal."  
  
How lucky he was to have found a do-gooder to help acclimate him into this unfamiliar culture--and one who knew of Salvatore, no less! Entreri smiled to himself.  
  
He had already spent some time observing the traffic from his hotel room, and had a basic understanding of lanes, lights and the more common signs. Soon he felt quite comfortable driving, as if he'd been doing it for a long time.  
  
Siobhan reached over and turned a dial on the dashboard; suddenly sound came out from somewhere in the car. That was one thing Entreri had to get used to--everywhere in this world there were pictures, noises, and flashing lights. And there was more visual stimulation than at a Calimport slave auction.  
  
It took him a few moments to realize that the sounds were some sort of music. After seeing his expression, Siobhan turned down the volume. "Sorry," she said. "You probably don't want to listen to this."  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
"A band called Nine Inch Nails. I can change the CD if you like; my case is in the backseat."  
  
Entreri shrugged. "I don't mind it," he said. He kept the volume low, however, so that he could hear the noises around him.  
  
Siobhan directed him onto the freeway, and Entreri found this sort of driving much more fun. He stepped on the gas and started flying past the slower moving vans and trucks. Siobhan grinned at him and pressed a button on the roof, opening up a window on top of the car. It was an unseasonably warm day, the snow melting in dirty mounds along the side of the road. He found a rare and genuine smile creep onto his face as he turned up the volume on the CD player.  
  
Suddenly, he saw lights flashing some distance off in his rearview mirror. He was about to ask Siobhan about it when she noticed them, too.  
  
She cursed. "Crap! You'd better pull over; we've been nailed."  
  
"Highwaymen?" Entreri asked, glancing behind him and not slowing down.  
  
"Um...Pretty much, yeah. Stop the car, dammit!"  
  
There was an open stretch of road ahead of them. "I can outrun these bastards," Entreri assured her.  
  
"No! Don't be an idiot!" Siobhan shrieked. "You can't outrun the cops. Don't you understand? They'll just make it worse for me if you try to run!"  
  
Entreri completely misunderstood. "Nobody's going to bother you," he said, twisting to look at her, and letting his coat fall open to reveal his arsenal of guns.  
  
"Oh my God," said Siobhan. 


	3. Part Three

Part Three  
  
***  
  
"You psycho!" she screamed as soon as she'd gathered a breath. "Who the hell are you really?"  
  
"Someone you would be wise not to cross," Entreri replied, dropping his slightly-hapless-refugee facade. "Now, on your life, hold the wheel steady."  
  
Siobhan stared at him in horror, and he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, as if she had heard similar words before. Of course, he thought. She was beginning to understand the truth of him in her heart, even if her mind couldn't accept it yet.  
  
Shakily she took the wheel, guiding it with just a touch of pressure as they flew around a curve in the road. Entreri deftly worked his AK-47 hunting rifle out from under his coat, careful not to jostle the steering wheel, and aimed it out the window at the pursuing cop car's tires. He took a shot and saw the car spin off the road as the car's left front tire was ripped to shreds. He took several more shots at the windshield, shattering the glass, before speeding away.  
  
"Oh my God," Siobhan muttered to herself, over and over like a mantra.  
  
Another cop car came careening up the road, sirens blaring. All other traffic had stopped to allow the police their chase. One officer was leaning out the window with a gun of his own, intent on shooting out the Celica's tires. Entreri took aim and shot him in the hand, and the gun went flying down the road.  
  
"I cannot believe you are shooting cops," Siobhan said. "This is unreal. This just isn't happening."  
  
Entreri calmly disabled the second cop car as he had done the first and propped the gun up for the moment, taking back the steering wheel. "I need a secure structure not very far from here, fairly secluded, preferably abandoned," he said, as coolly as if he were ordering a meal in a swanky restaurant. "Tell me you know of something that fits that description."  
  
"Um..." Siobhan was searching her mind frantically.  
  
"If you need any more prodding, imagine yourself being ripped apart in a hail of gunfire."  
  
"The old button factory!" she shrieked. "It's on the outskirts of the city, in an industrial district that's mostly closed down now. Get off at the next exit, make a right."  
  
"Good girl," Entreri said sarcastically. He got off the freeway and headed into a grimy, neglected section of the city. Several cop cars came out of side streets to converge on him, but he ran the blockade and kept going. He followed Siobhan's directions and arrived at the factory building with no less than six cop cars in pursuit, and a seventh adversary up in the sky, shining a bright light on him.  
  
"They've got choppers," Siobhan gasped as he dragged her out of the car. "You'll never get away!"  
  
"I already have," he said as the cop cars screeched to a halt. He pulled Siobhan in front of him and slipped his hands up underneath her arms, pinning them and driving the heel of one hand down on the back of her neck while holding a pistol to her head with the other.  
  
"You asshole!" she screamed, her voice shrill with terror. She tried to fight, but the way he was restraining her, he could easily snap her neck if she struggled too fiercely.  
  
The cops were standing with guns drawn, helpless to save her, as Entreri forced the door open with a backward kick and backpedaled inside, dragging her along with him.  
  
***  
  
Little light spilled in through the factory's boarded up windows, but Entreri was comfortable in the gloom. He had tried dialing his cell phone to return to Jarlaxle's tower, but the magical signal was weak. Right now there was nothing he could do but wait.  
  
Siobhan sat quietly along the wall, watching him pace. He'd removed the coat and most of the guns. They had been fun, but Entreri preferred his dagger and sword for up-close, personal killings. The dagger he displayed openly, its jewels catching and throwing back the meager shafts of light.  
  
"Who are you?" Siobhan said finally, after the minutes had stretched into an hour, and then two. Outside the cops kept a perimeter guard, though no one more qualified to handle the situation had yet arrived on the scene.  
  
"Do you not know?" Entreri asked softly, drawing his dagger and crouching down in front of her. Her eyes widened as he ran a finger over the blade, drawing blood from a wound that closed up as quickly as it was made.  
  
"I...what I think you are insinuating is logically impossible," she responded, her courage bolstered by that simple statement of fact.  
  
"Would you like to see where I come from, so you might judge that from experience?" he asked.  
  
"You mean go to Afghanistan?"  
  
"I think you know better." Entreri glanced at his cell phone as it began to ring. He picked it up, and without bothering to listen to Jarlaxle's greeting, said, "We're on our way." Then he hung up.  
  
"We? I thought you were giving me a choice in the matter?" Siobhan asked incredulously.  
  
"I am," Entreri said slyly. "Your other choice is to walk out there and explain how a fully-grown adult male just `disappeared' from the premises, and how you were *not* an accomplice to that rather enterprising maneuver."  
  
"You are an asshole," Siobhan told him again. "Can't you just knock me out and leave me here? I'll be unconscious; I won't have anything to answer for."  
  
"I could," Entreri said, "but I won't. At least, not until after my associate has spoken with you."  
  
Siobhan thought about that for a moment. "I've always wanted to see Waterdeep," she said finally, giving him a pointed look.  
  
"Well, you're in luck," Entreri told her. "I can show you Waterdeep...I, ah, suppose it's the least I can do for putting you into this situation."  
  
At least he had the grace to look halfway contrite. "Aside from beating me up?" Siobhan said. She could play the guilt card as well as any.  
  
"Don't worry," he assured her by way of apology. "I know how to make it look really bad without hurting you much." He stood up and stretched, checking his cell phone to make sure the magical properties were working correctly.  
  
Siobhan laughed helplessly, the stress of the day finally catching up with her, and bit back a sarcastic but wholly inappropriate retort.  
  
***  
  
Later, Siobhan relaxed more comfortably in Jarlaxle's quarters while Entreri related his experiences to the dark elf. She could hear their voices clearly through the open door.  
  
"Really, my _khal abbil_, you do seem to have a propensity for picking up cute redheads. Though your technique could use some work, I should say. Threats and kidnapping? That's at least four points off on style," Jarlaxle was saying.  
  
"Would you be serious for once?" Entreri snapped.  
  
"Would you be anything less than serious, ever?" countered Jarlaxle. "I've read the manuscript your friend brought with her, and I've decided I greatly overestimated the threat of this...Salvatore. Aside from a few slightly less-than-complimentary passages regarding the whole Shard debacle, his book presents a rather glowing and stylish portrayal of me. And you, my friend, turned out to be quite the hero!" The mercenary chuckled. "I do not see the need for drastic measures here."  
  
"I do not like it," Entreri said stubbornly. "I intend to go back and finish this."  
  
Siobhan got up and went to the door. "You can't kill R.A. Salvatore, you know," she said to Entreri. "He _invented_ you. If you kill him, you'll only live on in other peoples' crappy fanfics. You'll become so two-dimensional, you could turn sideways and disappear." That didn't seem to faze the assassin, so she went on, "You'll find yourself uttering the same ridiculous one-liners over and over, and doing stupid things like using `Drizzit Dudden' as an alias."  
  
Entreri stared at her in disbelief. There was no way she could have possibly known about that.  
  
Siobhan smiled and handed him her notebook. He flipped through the pages and shuddered; it was all in there.  
  
"You are telling me I'm a fictional character?" he asked, playing along with the ridiculous notion.  
  
She nodded. "The scene in the car tipped me off," she said. "When you were able to drive at speeds upwards of 120 miles per hour _and_ shoot a rifle with unerring accuracy, at the same time, without ever having done either one of those things before. No real person could do that."  
  
"I think that's her very backhanded way of saying you're a really amazing guy," Jarlaxle interjected from the corner of the room, still poring over his picture on the cover of the Salvatore book.  
  
"You were the one who wrote the story," Entreri protested, ignoring him.  
  
Siobhan shrugged wearily; it had been a long day and an even longer night before that. "True," she said cryptically, "but I've only just read it."  
  
***  
  
THE END 


End file.
